


Counting the Days

by carolej126



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Family, Gen, Hurt/Comfort
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-05-28
Updated: 2015-05-28
Packaged: 2018-04-01 18:06:27
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 353
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4029565
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/carolej126/pseuds/carolej126
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Originally published in Road Trip With My Brother 10 (Agent With Style, 2010)</p>
<p>Written for a "write to the end" challenge, with the last paragraph provided.</p>
<p>Sam is sick and Dean has nursing duty.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Counting the Days

Six days. It had now been six days, and if he had to hold one more tissue while Sam blew, he was going to scream.

That didn't mean that he wouldn't do it, hold the tissue, that is, but he would scream. Inside, anyway.

The first five days had been filled with, yes, tissues, but also orange juice and Tylenol and cough syrup and Seven-Up. And that was just during the day. The list grew longer at night, with extra blankets and NyQuil and a humidifier that covered the windows, sheets and practically everything else, with steam.

And then there were the trips to the bathroom, with a dizzy, off-balance brother stumbling across the carpet, into the facilities, and taking care of his business, all while Dean held on to his arm and tried to keep him from planting his face on the toilet, the sink, or the tile floor.

Day one, Sam had been pretty coherent, and grateful for the care. Day two, he'd been cranky, and complained about everything, his fever rising and falling by the hour. Day three... Day three had been characterized by delirium, with Sam no longer recognizing his brother, instead calling for their dad and occasionally for Jess.

Days four and five had been quiet ones. Sam had slept the sleep of the dead, hot to the touch, barely moving, barely breathing. And Dean had spent the two days sitting next to his brother’s bed, switching out damp washcloths on Sam’s forehead, trying to get Sam to drink more water, gently forcing pills down Sam’s throat, and pacing back and forth across the well-worn hotel carpet. 

Now, day six had arrived, and Dean stood, prepared, as Sam woke. He watched as his brother opened his eyes, blinked, and then shifted his gaze to search the room. 

Tissue in hand, Dean smiled as Sam met his eyes. Then laughed as his brother reached out for the tissue, grabbed it, and blew his own nose.

It had been a rough few days, for both of them. They didn't talk about it later, but neither one of them forgot.

~end~


End file.
